


bookstores can't save your life, but they can give you a better one

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (as in tywin is his own warning), Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Books, Bookstores, Dorks in Love, F/M, I Don't Even Know, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Minor Jon Snow/Ygritte, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Robb Stark, Multi, Robb Stark is a Gift, Romance, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Tywin Lannister's A+ Parenting, don't worry this is the fluffiest shit in existence don't let tywin deter you, idek, the author likes intertexuality a wee bit too much
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 06:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13289400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: “You’re blushing,” Bronn says, sounding way too amused for Tyrion’s liking. “Just gift her a decent book with your number written on the first page.”“The hell? No way,” Tyrion cuts him off. “That’d be creepy. And I saw her twice. Is your mind in the gutter or what?”“Says the one who has ten different porn and erotica recommendations depending on what kind of porn someone likes to read.”“Well, I share if you ask for my very humble opinion only!”“The soccer mom definitely didn’t want your humble opinion.”“Just check if I can shelve that stuff already,” Tyrion groans, absolutely not thinking about Sansa Stark’s pretty sky-blue eyes and about her enthusiasm about bad romance books and about how she thought his shop matched the name.Or: in which Tyrion owns a bookshop and might be harboring a crush on his latest returning customer.





	bookstores can't save your life, but they can give you a better one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TotemundTabu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotemundTabu/gifts).



> SO, this is usually not my sandbox BUT my pal whose birthday was yesterday greatly enjoys it and from what I gathered he's currently more in dire need of sansa/tyrion than Other Ships We Have In Common, so... I tried. Hi guys I hope y'all are doing fine I hope this is decent and really apologies in advance for the self-indulgent stuff that might probably be obvious from reading this but it's BOOKSTORE fic I'm weak. also damien I really hope you like it and thanks for dragging me into the spite-shipping train /o\ happy late-ish birthday again! <3
> 
> Also: of course nothing belongs to me except the plot, sort of, the title is a reworked quote from High Fidelity (in the original it was *record stores* can't save your life) and just, I'll saunter vaguely downwards and leave this here.

It’s almost closing time as Tyrion looks over this week’s list of sales and lets out a long, weary sigh before reminding himself for the umpteenth time that at least the universe did give him back some karma when it came to balancing all the shit that came with his surname.

Or better: he doesn’t know who he hates more between his father and his sister and if he had to play a game of who in between the two of them fucked him up more and made his therapist’s fortune, but at least coming from money and gaining access to his mother’s trust fund the moment he turned twenty-one meant that he could get himself the job of his dreams and _keep it_ even if it’s not earning him much. Hell, on good months he manages to have no losses and he doesn’t think he’s gained a cent in the three years since he slammed the door in his father’s face and his plans according to which he was going to get an economy degree and _help out with the family business_ , but who cares? He has enough money to last himself another fifteen years at least and if he didn’t Jaime would find some way to make sure he would, and he’s been entirely fine with his brother being the only close family member he’s talked to since.

And so what if selling books won’t get him _earnings_? It’s what he always wanted, and having bought a former clothes shop that he could remodel to his liking means that _now_ he has it the way he always pictured it since he could picture _anything_ , and it was never about the money. Fuck knows if he needs the money.

That said, _fuck_ if January isn’t a bad month. He supposes it’s normal given that instead he sells more in December than in the first six months of each year put together, and people most likely won’t care for spending too much money after wasting half of their paycheck on Christmas present, but still, next year he needs to find a way to plan some January discounts or follow Jaime’s advice about issuing some kind of fidelity card. He’s _not_ following his advice of _put stuff that sells in the window_ , because you’ll catch him dead before he actually advertises any trash that comes out of self-insert RPF fan fiction on Wattpad (not that he has anything against fanfiction, hell, he has an Ao3 account and his last Yuletide fic for _The Last Unicorn_ was a hit, but if he has to advertise it in his own shop he’d rather have _good_ published fanfic, not _trash_ published fanfic), even if logic tells him that _would_ boost his sales some.

Well, not until he can avoid it.

He shuts off the accountings book and puts it back in his place, then climbs back up on the computer chair and checks the new monthly arrivals that should be shipped here two days from now - he’s going to have to call Pod and Bronn and ask them to come over next Monday. He can manage the shop on his own or occasionally asking Jaime to show up and lend him a hand but when it comes to stashing new arrivals on shelves four times his height he’d rather have someone else to help out.

(He _could_ call Jaime, true, but given that he’s spending the week somewhere without internet or cellphone coverage with his best-friend-hopefully-soon-to-be-girlfriend and he said he was going to fess up, he’s going to try and avoid using the landline number. He’s been waiting for those two to hook up for years, he can actually afford to pay his friends to come instead of him.)

Right. Accounting is in order as much as he doesn’t like it, it’s one hour until closing time, no one is coming in for the day, he might as well stop staring at the new shipments. He jumps off the chair and heads for the corner of the shop, where he has set a sofa, a tea and a boiler and where people can sit down and make themselves some if they want. He fills up the boiler with a bottle of water he keeps nearby for such occasions, picks a bag of his usual green jasmine brand and puts it inside one of the two available teacups.

Damn, he _really_ needs something warm to drink - it’s hailing outside and he’s _this_ tempted to just sleep on the sofa tonight rather than crossing the street to go home. Not as if it’d change much since there’s no one here and no one _there,_ but you can’t have everything, and he makes do with the occasional hooker - given that his last girlfriend when both they were twenty-one lasted six months and then broke it off because his father was making her life hell without having even met her, he _has_ to make do.

He pours the hot water in the teacup and he’s about to sit down on the sofa when the bell rings and someone comes in.

He immediately turns towards the door, and -

It’s a pretty young woman, definitely younger than him though not by _overtly_ much, bundled in a heavy gray winter coat, a pair of boots just a shade lighter, and bright auburn hair spilling over her shoulders as she takes off her white hat.

“Hello,” he welcomes her, hoping that she’s not the kind of client who walks out when they see who’s running the show - it’s not _many_ , but some do. “Can I offer you some tea?”

That’s standard - he does that with anyone who comes in. The young woman shrugs down some snow from her shoulders, then she finally looks down at him, taking in the sofa and the teacup and the rest of the shop.

“Oh,” she says, “if it’s not a bother that’d be lovely.”

“Nonsense, I was making it for myself anyway.”

“That’s smart,” she says. “Most places I go to make you pay for the tea, if you want some.”

He laughs - fair point. “I’d drink it myself anyway, I might as well offer it and potential clients might come back.”

“Smart,” she agrees. “Well, I’ll take it. Nice shop, by the way. Have you been here long?”

“A couple of years, but I had to renovate for a long time.” _And my father slowed the opening down for another six months until he couldn’t anymore_.

“It looks lovely,” she says, sitting on the sofa. “Uh, wait, don’t tell me, let me guess. If it’s named _The Hobbit Hole,_ then you have to be a _Lord of the Rings_ fan? Don’t get yourself excited, I know because my brother’s into it.”

Tyrion _has_ to laugh as he pours her a cup.

“Well, _my_ brother read the entire thing because _I_ was into it and I knew it took him some effort. Paying attention to what the people you care about like even if you don’t only says good thing about you. In my experience, anyway.”

“Your brother’s not into fantasy? Oh, sorry, I’m being too nosy, right?”

Tyrion shrugs as he takes a sip. “It’s all right,” he says, “it’s obvious you don’t mean it badly.”

“It’s just - I tend to start talking a lot if - never mind. You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” he says, wishing he wasn’t thinking that it’s kind of cute how she’s obviously mortified about this. “Actually, he probably _would_ be into fantasy, he’s entirely fine with the movies, but - if you have dyslexia you don’t tend to read bricks, you know.”

“Oh,” she says, nodding. “That - that’s lovely that he did, though. I mean, that he actually read the entire thing.”

“I definitely appreciated it, back in the day.” _Sure as hell I did_ , he doesn’t say but thinks. He’s fairly sure that Jaime’s eyes were metaphorically bleeding by the time he got to the appendix, bless his efforts. “Anyway, it’s okay, really. He wouldn’t mind other people knowing.” _Not now, anyway._ “And given how I _named_ the place, it’s obvious people would put two and two together.”

“It _does_ look like a hobbit hole, though. I mean, I’ve just seen the movies, but if that part was done right…”

“ _That part_ was. Though we’re not talking about the movies.”

“That bad?”

“ _That_ bad. Meanwhile, can I help you with anything after you’re done or you were just looking around?”

“Actually,” she says, “maybe you could help me with something. I mean, I need to get something for my brother’s girlfriend and I mean, she’s lovely but we don’t really talk outside of times when my brother’s around and I don’t really _know_ her or anything. And I don’t think she likes what I like. Nor what my brother likes.”

“Right,” Tyrion says, “what does your brother like and what do _you_ like?”

She shrugs, sipping her tea. “He likes… er… heavy stuff? I mean, I haven’t seen him do any light reading in his entire life. His favorite’s… _Perfume_ , I think?”

_Either this guy likes Nirvana a lot or he really is no fun to be around_ , Tyrion doesn’t say. “Right. _That_ ’d be heavy. She’s not into it?”

“Nah. She’s - well, she always makes fun of his horribly sad books even if it’s all in good spirits so I really doubt she _likes_ that. As far as I’m concerned… er, I like romance stuff, but she - _really_ doesn’t.”

Tyrion doesn’t ask her how she knows. “Hm. So she’s more for light-hearted stuff but not _romance_ but she’s together with a guy whose favorite book is _Perfume_ and thinks it’s somehow adorable that he is?”

“… That - that was remarkably accurate?”

He shrugs. “I’ve been known to be a good judge of character,” he replies. “Right, I think I have a few ideas. Are you sure -”

“Yes, absolutely! I don’t really - I mean, I’m not much of a bookworm outside my area, so please do go ahead.”

Tyrion nods and lets her finish her tea while he considers his options. Thing is, he’s never met anyone whose favorite book was _Perfume_ who wasn’t a Nirvana fan first _or_ a pretentious asshole, so if the boyfriend isn’t the latter he has to be the former, so this woman obviously has no issues being around people _very much_ into music, but she also doesn’t sound like she takes herself too seriously. Also, no romance - Tyrion would approve, honest, because doesn’t he loathe most of that genre, but he certainly won’t say it in front of a client who just said she’s into it.

He thinks he has what he needs. He feels _very_ thankful that the letter _H_ in the contemporary narrative section doesn’t require for him to climb to the top of the shelves and checks if he still has a couple of copies - he does.

“I think,” he tells his client as he hands her a brand new copy of Nick Hornby’s _About a Boy,_ “that if I haven’t read them completely wrong, she might really like this. If she already has it, she can come back here with the receipt and I can change it, no problem.”

She looks at the back, reading the summary. “Well, it _does_ feel like something she might like. God, thank you, I really had no idea where to start from. Can you wrap it up?”

“Sure,” he says, “we do complete service around here. Just give me five minutes.”

“Great,” she smiles, and heads for -

The _romance_ section. Sure. Of course, the one Tyrion would have completely discarded if Jaime hadn’t talked him into not committing financial suicide.

He picks nice red paper, covers the price, throws in an extra bookmark with the bookshop’s name and wraps it with a golden ribbon - some habits are hard to die but he _does_ like the color scheme of his father’s company logo. He’s climbed back up on the check-out chair and put the book on the counter when his customer shows up with something else pressed to her chest.

“Look at that,” she says, “it looks so pretty.” She sounds very pleased at his gift-wrapping skills. “I’ll take this one, too.”

“For you?” He asks, trying to not look pained as she hands him some volume of _Shadowhunders_ which Tyrion only keeps in the shop because since the TV show happened people have flocked in to gift the thing to their daughters or nieces and Jaime gave him a one-hour pep talk on _please don’t try to talk people into not buying them, you need to earn something and if people have no taste that’s their problem_.

“For me,” she says, all giddy. “It’s the last one I’m missing.”

She sounds so excited about it, he has to physically restrain himself from warning her about the whole Cassandra Clare plagiarizing deal that went down when he was most probably too young to be on the internet to follow it happen.

“Well, I hope it’s good then.”

“I thought all bookshop keepers read everything they sell.”

“That’s _not false_ ,” he says, ringing it up, “but, uh, it’s kind of not my genre.”

“Fair enough,” she says. “How much?”

He tells her the total and takes her card - the name on it reads _Sansa Stark_.

“Nice,” he tells her. “I mean, it’s a pretty name. Not to sound creepy or anything.”

She laughs. “Oh, you aren’t. And well, it’s not really common, so it’s nice to hear someone thinks it’s _pretty_. And if you know mine maybe I should know yours at this point?”

“Fair’s fair,” he says as he turns the POS terminal towards her so she can enter her PIN number, and hands her a bag with both purchases as soon as the transaction’s over. “Well, feel free to come back whenever. And I’m Tyrion.”

“Free tea, nice conversation and no one judging me for my literature choices? I think I just might.”

She waves at him as she leaves, her pretty, large blue eyes turning back towards the entrance, and Tyrion feels kind of like shit because he _kind of_ was judging her tastes, but at least he kept his mouth shut.

Well, he just hopes the girlfriend enjoys her light reading.

——

He doesn’t really expect her to come back.

Or at least, he doesn’t expect her to come back _three days after_ , just as he’s pushing the new shipments in the storage room.

“Welcome back,” he says. “I hope not for a return?”

“Not at all!” Wait, wow, she sounds really… happy? “She _loved_ it.”

“Wait, the brother’s girlfriend? She’s done already?”

“She finished it in two days, or so she said.”

“Well, glad to hear it then. If you’d like to help yourself to some more tea, I’ll be back in a minute. It’s the new stuff that’s just come in.”

“Oh, sure. Also because I need more advice,” she says, heading for the sofa.

Tyrion finishes to stuff the boxes inside the room, figuring he’ll call Bronn to help him out with them later, and shuts the door, moving back towards the sofa where the boiler’s just finished heating up water.

“So, how can I help you?”

“My sister’s birthday is coming up and er, uh, we’re… I mean, complete opposites when it comes to interests? Like, until now I just asked Jon, you know, the one with the girlfriend, to confirm me whether what I get her would be fine or not, also because she doesn’t let anyone else into her room so _no one_ know what she actually owns or not. But - well, this year he’s busy because he and the girlfriend are moving in together and I don’t want to bother him with making sure I buy her something she enjoys.”

“Right. Does she like the same stuff as, uh, _Jon_?”

Sansa shrugs. “Er, sort of, but I think she’s more hardcore than that. I guess. I mean, she goes to metal concerts, he’s more into… people dressed with flannels.”

_Right. Totally a Nirvana fan_ , Tyrion thinks. “Don’t they have _anything_ in common?”

Sansa shrugs. “Well, they went to a guy’s concerts together a few times. God, what’s the name even, that guy who’s always dressed all in black and has those long depressing songs and who looks like a vampire? I guess?”

Tyrion laughs - he _has_ to. “Nick Cave?” He asks.

“ _That_ one,” Sansa agrees. “Wow, I’m so terrible at remembering the names, but - it’s kind of too depressing for my tastes.”

“Hey, no one _has_ to like things just because their relatives do,” Tyrion says, shuddering and thinking of how much he spent his childhood wanting to burn most of Dickens’s production because _for some reason_ he was the only writer his father actually _read_ (without understanding the message, Tyrion never made him notice) and while now he doesn’t actually feel like burn any kind of books he still only has Dickens in storage because it’d be ridiculous if he hadn’t.

He thinks quickly. If she’s _that much_ into Nick Cave she probably might have his books already, _but_ maybe -

“How much money do you want to spend on this?” He asks.

“Oh, whatever. It’s her eighteenth birthday, I can splurge on it.”

He nods and heads for the poetry section, climbs up until he reaches the _C_ and comes down with the last brand new copy of _The Sick Bag Song_ that he has left.

“That,” he says, handing it to Sansa, “is like, some kind of epic poem he put together during a tour. And that edition is a first print and it’s _really_ good, if you’re into that kind of poetry.”

She takes it and looks through it, nodding as she goes on. “Well, I don’t get it at all, but then again I don’t get most of what my sister likes so it’s probably a good choice. Also - it’s really beautiful. In… its own way. I guess. But then again, I also don’t want to always ask Jon if it’s going to be fine so - can I have it wrapped?”

“Sure thing,” he smiles back at her. “Let me know if she likes it.”

“Do _you_?” Sansa asks as she sips her tea.

Tyrion almost lets the book fall to the ground.

People don’t usually ask _him_ that question.

“It’s more my brother’s thing, but I did like it.” Jaime was crazy into that shit when he was a teenager - Tyrion never quite asked but then he read some of those lyrics and he thought about how terribly unhealthy Jaime and Cersei used to be and he thought he could see the point in liking _that_ , if you were his brother.

He shudders at the thought and proceeds on wrapping the book - he picks black paper having a feeling it would fit the aesthetic better and uses a silver ribbon instead. It takes him a bit since it’s larger and harder to wrap than a paperback, and by the time he’s done, Sansa’s back to the counter holding _another_ book for herself.

It’s definitely not _Shadowhunters_ , at least, and if one could do immensely better than Sophie Kinsella, well, one can also do immensely worse. He rings it up, swipes her card, says goodbye and marks the purchases on his accounting book, and hopes that at least he came up with some good advice.

Then he calls Bronn and Pod because he _really_ can’t handle five boxes full of books on his damned own.

——

“Wait,” Bronn tells him as he double-checks the contents of his box against the list of shipments, “are you telling me that she bought _two_ pieces of trash literature from you and you kept your mouth shut?”

“I _always_ keep my mouth shut,” Tyrion tells him, albeit very weakly.

“Sure, same as that time you convinced the fifty-year old soccer mom to get herself _Delta of Venus_ instead of _Fifty Shades of Grey_.”

“Listen, if she just wanted well-written porn _Venus_ is highly superior and doesn’t -”

“Give other people a bad representation of BDSM relationships, we _know_ , you’ve said that _since it came out_ , just write your own and stop harping at someone who just found a very fast way to make money.”

Tyrion opens his mouth.

“And if you want to explain me _all over again_ how it’s outrageous because safe, sane and consensual partaking in the lifestyle is one of the reasons your brother is a more or less adjusted human being these days and might become even more adjusted if he finally manages to partake in it with his hopefully soon to be girlfriend, _don’t_ , because I had to hear that from _him_ one too many times, too.”

Tyrion closes his mouth. Fair enough.

“So _no_ , you don’t always keep your mouth shut.”

Tyrion sighs and takes a moment to feel thankful that at least when it comes to the box he’s checking right now he doesn’t have to send them back any extra copies they might have sent him when he didn’t order them.

“Fine,” he admits, “I don’t, but - she’s nice, all right? I mean, she also said she liked that _I didn’t make her feel judged_ for her tastes, so - I wasn’t going to.”

“Look at you.”

“Look at me _what_?”

“You’re blushing,” Bronn says, sounding _way_ too amused for Tyrion’s liking. “Just gift her a _decent_ book with your number written on the first page.”

“The hell? No way,” Tyrion cuts him off. “That’d be creepy. And I saw her _twice_. Is your mind in the gutter or what?”

“Says the one who has ten different porn and erotica recommendations depending on _what kind of porn someone likes to read_.”

“Well, I share if you ask for my very humble opinion only!”

“The soccer mom definitely didn’t want your humble opinion.”

“Just check if I can shelve that stuff already,” Tyrion groans, absolutely _not_ thinking about Sansa Stark’s pretty sky-blue eyes and about her enthusiasm about bad romance books and about how she thought his shop matched the name.

No, he’s _not_.

——

The next Monday, the landline rings a minute after Tyrion has bade goodbye to some guy who’s definitely going to save his January accounting, since he just bought _all_ the Harry Potter box-sets he had left in storage for some five different nephews or kids he knew and Tyrion certainly _didn’t_ point out that back in the day he found those books cute but too simplistic - it’s _money_ and it’s not off trashy Wattpad fanfic, so he’ll take it.

He takes the call, already knowing who it is.

“So,” Jaime says, “Bronn informs me that you might have a crush on a client, or is he making stuff up?”

Tyrion wants to bang his head against the desk.

“So, do I have to deduce from your good mood that your plans to finally fess up to Brienne worked out?”

“What if they did?”

“Then no one had any doubts about it and you should go back to showing her a good time instead of listening to Bronn.”

“He said you let her buy _Shadowhunters_.”

“Fuck’s sake, what if I did?”

“Ask her out.”

“It took you five years to ask _Brienne_ out and now you’re telling me to do that after I saw her exactly twice?”

“Why would I want you to make the same mistakes _I_ did?”

The only thing Tyrion truly hates about his brother is how he _absolutely_ always manages to find a way to turn his utter hypocrisy when it comes to giving _him_ advice into something sensed.

Because of course he wouldn’t want Tyrion to spend five years trying to chat up the woman he likes because _twenty_ years of creepy co-depending relationship with Cersei made _Jaime_ ’s therapist way richer than he had ever dreamed of being.

And at least _Tyrion_ ’s didn’t have to make him figure out where his issues came from since he was entirely aware of that, thank you very much.

“Fine, whatever, we’ll see if she even comes back.”

“Look her up on Facebook.”

“I don’t _have_ a Facebook except for the shop’s page and I’m _never_ getting a personal one.”

“One day you’ll join the twenty-first century,” Jaime says, still sounding entirely too giddy for Tyrion’s tastes, even if knowing _why_ it’s hard do begrudge him that. Tyrion decides to let him get away with gloating until Valentine’s Day. That sounds reasonable.

“Maybe. Anyway, say hi to Brienne and please don’t worry about her dumping you when she realizes that you’re high-maintenance, she’s known for years.”

“You’re hilarious. Ask her out,” Jaime says, and then closes the call on him.

Yeah, _as if_. If he was born with Jaime’s face he might have tried it, but all things considered, he’s going to just - _not_ do that for now. He should probably disconnect the phone, but then again Jaime’s not coming back for another week so maybe by then he’ll have toned it down.

He goes to make himself some more tea. After all, if anything he can celebrate having sold five hundred pounds of _Harry Potter_ hardcover boxset.

He’s nursing his blessedly warm jasmine green when the bell rings again and -

Shit.

_Sansa Stark walks in_ , and he almost spills the tea on himself in surprise, but thankfully he manages to actually drink it instead before putting it back on the ground.

“I hope you don’t need to change that book,” he says, trying to sound as light hearted as possible.

“Oh, Arya’s birthday is next week,” she replies, and wait, _why_ is she sounding… sort of down? She did always sound so chipper the other two times, so he had figured she was one of those relentlessly optimistic people that he wishes he was like. Either he was wrong or she’s having a bad day. “It’s - I think I need a pick me up.”

“Oh. Sorry to hear that,” he replies, sincerely. “You mean, you want to buy yourself one?”

“I might,” she says. “I mean, it’s - not a really great day and I was passing here so I figured, I might stop and get myself a nice book, I don’t have anything I _haven’t_ read around anyway.”

“Well, if you want to help yourself to some tea first, just go ahead. I have to order back all of the _Harry Potter_ books I had in stock, and you don’t want to be out of that.”

“I suppose they sell well,” she says, sitting on the sofa and pouring herself a cup.

“They do,” he agrees.

“You don’t sound too enthusiastic,” she says, obviously trying to joke about it. He smiles as he climbs up the chair.

“I like my fantasy a bit more adult-themed I fear, but it _does_ sell and we have to keep afloat.”

“Fair,” Sansa says. “I only saw the movies and every time I say that people want to eat me alive.”

“Well, _I_ certainly won’t, I haven’t even seen the movies.” _Even if I wanted, Jaime would have had to sneak me out and lie about where we went so it wouldn’t have been worth it_. His father certainly did _not_ appreciate _children’s fiction_ around the house in the first place.

She laughs and goes back to her tea while he orders another five of those box-sets for the next shipment and doesn’t say anything else in case she doesn’t feel like doing conversation.

Then she stands up and heads for the romance section.

_Of course_.

Tyrion never quite realize _why_ people find unrealistic romance books _pick me up_ s, but as long as it’s, well, not Wattpad trash, he figures live and let live is the best way to go about it.

He finishes his orders and jumps down from the chair, going back to the sofa in the corner.

And then he sees the book Sansa is checking out.

He _knew_ he said he _wouldn’t_ do it, because he doesn’t want to look creepy and he doesn’t want to judge anyone’s tastes _openly_ and so on, but -

“Er,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s intruding or inappropriate or _whatever_ , “are you, uh, _really_ sure about… that?”

Sansa holds out the only copy of L.A. Casey’s _Dominic_ that Tyrion has in the shop, and it’s there just because Jaime assured him it was some kind of sensation, and admittedly he had to re-order it ten times but he can’t physically accept the prospect of having more than one copy of _that_ book inside _his_ shop.

“Well,” she says, “I never read anything by that author, but my friend Margaery said it was amazing and it sounds like my kind of thing. Why, is it bad?”

Tyrion wants to tell her that whoever this Margaery is, she has _crap_ taste in books.

“Er,” he says, trying to sweeten the pill, “it’s… _not good_ , let’s just put it like that. I mean, I don’t want to intrude, but are you in it for the sex or for the plot?”

“Would that make a difference?”

“If you’re into it for the plot and _not_ for the sex then it’s definitely a bad idea.”

“And if I was into it for the sex?”

“… Then I would advise to find better written sex, but it would be less of a waste of money. I mean, the sex is terrible but the plot is… _not really a thing_. I wouldn’t go for that if I wanted a pick me up.”

“Hm,” she considers, and he just hopes to hell and back that he hasn’t stepped over a line and that she doesn’t show up anymore. She opens the book and starts going through it, and then her eyes go wide. “Oh, dear.”

“… Which part is that?”

“ _I more than like you but don't feel near love yet, so I put the word love and like together and got live so I live you. I'm in live with you…_? Wow.”

“ _See_ what I mean?”

Sansa nods and closes it, putting it back where she found it.

Tyrion breathes out in relief hoping that she doesn’t notice.

“Okay, no,” she says, “that was - bad. Uhm, just, what if I told you that I’m into it for the plot?”

“And you want a nice romance as a pick me up? With sex or without?”

“If there is I’m not complaining but I don’t really care that much.”

“Right.” Tyrion moves in front of her and quickly scans the romance section - shit, he _hates_ the genre but there will have to be _something_ that’s not horrid, right?

Then he sees it.

“Let me guess,” he asks, “you liked Jane Austen when you were in high school?”

“How did you know?” She replies, perking up.

“Wild guess.” He doesn’t add, _I honestly hated Austen’s guts but there was one retelling I didn’t hate_. He picks _Bridget Jones’s Diary_ from under the _F_ , the only copy he had left. “That’s… pretty much an updated _Pride and Prejudice_. Just, modern. If you want a nice plot without horrible puns about being _in live_ with people, you might like it.”

She turns it over, checks the back summary and reads bits and pieces of the first two pages, and she smiles a bit as she looks over a bit at page three, and then she closes it. “You know, you haven’t given me bad advice yet. I’ll take it.”

“Nice,” he says, “then I guess you can be my guinea pig.”

“For what?”

He shrugs. “My brother’s more into economics than I am and he insists I should do some kind of fidelity card so returning clients get a discount after the first two purchases or something. You can have ten percent off.”

“That’s lovely, but -”

“Really,” he says, “I should have implemented it a long time ago. Also I’ve had that in stock for years, at least someone finally bought it.”

She considers it, then her mouth curves up in a lovely grin and shit, _shit_ , it’s been years since anyone smiled at him like _that_ without the next question being about his father’s money. “Well then, I’ll have the ten percent off.”

Tyrion checks the book out and finds her a bag before taking her ten pounds and giving her back some change. “Let me know if it was good advice.”

“Sure I will,” she says, and leaves the shop happier than she was when she came in.

Good. Wasn’t it one of the reasons why he _really_ wanted to own a bookshop? To see people walking out of it happier than they were when they got in, the same as it used to be for _him_ when he was younger?

It was. He just hopes she comes back at some point.

——

She does, some three days later, and she has the _horrible_ idea of doing it when Bronn’s around to help out because he needs to bring out of the storage room some pink banners and discount signs that he keeps there just when Valentine’s Day rolls around and since it’s less than a month from now and Bronn has work stuff to do until then, it was either today or nothing.

(Right, he could have called Jaime, but he’s still in his honeymoon phase _along_ with Brienne and he has a feeling that when they’re not working they’re doing _something_ to make up for lost time, and after the third time he called them while they were having some horribly mushy candle-lit dinner, he’s just not going to. _For now_.)

“Hello,” he tells her. “I hope you’re not coming to return that book?”

“Oh, no,” she says, smiling a bit, and why does she have such a pretty laugh? “I’m halfway through, but I’m really liking it. It’s just, uh, I have finals coming up _and_ my brother’s boyfriend birthday is on Valentine’s Day, so since I won’t have much time in the next few weeks, I figured I’d get him a present now.”

“Hm. Fair point. _Another_ brother, I suppose?”

“Oh, yeah. Er, it’s five of us in the family and Jon’s a cousin but he grew up with us, so.”

“… _Wow_ ,” Tyrion whistles. He can’t imagine people having _five_ siblings and apparently _liking each other_.

But maybe it’s _his_ family’s problem and not everyone else’s.

“Is that the one who likes fantasy?”

She laughs. “You remembered that? No, it’s - well, Jon’s the one with the girlfriend. Bran’s the one who likes fantasy. Arya’s my sister, and by the way, she about cried when she opened _that_ other present, so thanks for that. Rickon’s the youngest but right now he’s more into video games than about anything else. Robb’s the one with the boyfriend whose birthday is on Valentine’s Day.”

“ _Right_ ,” Tyrion says, trying to keep track of that. “Oldest?”

“Yes,” she says, very fondly.

“Okay. Uhm, any idea of what the boyfriend likes?”

Sansa goes red in the face. “Er. I think - you know how you asked me whether I wanted plot or sex?”

“I did?”

“Okay. He - he’s the kind who’d want sex. But - _well-done_ sex. Not _trash_ sex. Or well, once at dinner he was halfway drunk and he started ranting about how you couldn’t find nicely published porn anymore and everything is a Twilight rip-off. Or _something_.”

Tyrion decides that the brother’s boyfriend is a person of exceedingly good taste.

“So I asked my brother what’s his favorite book and he said _Tropic of Cancer_ but honestly I have no idea of what I could get him, I mean, I don’t really read… old stuff.”

Tyrion _can_ hear that Bronn is about to break down in laughter behind them.

Shit.

“ _Right_ ,” Tyrion says.”So he’s into classics. Fine, I think I’ve got it. Unless he has problems with, er, heterosexual sex? But if he likes _Tropic of Cancer_ -”

“Oh, he _definitely_ made clear he fishes on both sides of the pond. He’s not going to have a problem with it.”

And with _easy_ taste, too. Tyrion already likes this boyfriend guy, on principle.

“Bronn, can you get me _Lady Chatterley_? The L is on the top shelf.” He grins at Bronn, who of course has to do it lest he looks like an asshole, and he comes back down with the priciest of his three editions of _Lady Chatterley’s Lover_. Well, fair enough, he’s being an asshole back, but then again Sansa didn’t say she wanted something cheap.

“Right,” Tyrion tells her, “this should do. I have a cheaper edition if -”

“Oh, it’s all right! Also, they’ve been together some four years and they’ve known each other since they were like, four. He’s earned the pricey edition.”

“Sorry, that probably sounded rude, but - never mind.”

“It wasn’t,” she says. “I guess not many people splurge money on their siblings’s significant others unless they’re married or something.”

“Pretty much,” Tyrion agrees, even if in his case it’s more, _I wouldn’t splurge money on anyone Cersei liked nor anyone Jaime tried to date who obviously was in it for the aforementioned money and not for the rest_ , and he _might_ have splurged more money on Brienne’s birthday presents than one might think, so he does understand what she means. “Then the boyfriend gets the pricey edition, I guess?”

“Let’s say he does.”

“Okay. Then pricey edition it is.” He wraps it up, checks it out, swipes her card, and he can’t help thinking that there must be _something_ wrong with her because she checks her phone with a worried look every two seconds and it’s obvious she’s forcing herself to look like she’s doing absolutely fine. Still, he doesn’t press, and he waves back at her as she leaves.

Bronn, who had thankfully stayed silent until now, clears his throat.

“Whatever you were about to say, _don’t_ ,” Tyrion warns him.

“Sorry, you pay me to shelve stuff, not to keep my mouth shut. You should totally put a move on her.”

“I’m _not_ -”

“Oh come on, she had an LCF patch on her backpack, so she’s definitely in uni, which means that she can’t be _that_ much younger than you are and she’ll probably be amazed instead of freaked out when she finds out you’ve got two degrees without even attending the lectures.”

“Bronn, that’s no -”

“And if you think that people just look at the outside when it comes to dating you’re an idiot because your brother’s precious new girlfriend is hardly _pretty_ and he’s been into her for years.”

“At least she’s tall,” Tyrion mutters, trying to just drop the damned subject.

“Well, she’s taller than he is and redhead here is taller than you are, you’ll make an adorable sight when you go on double dates.”

“Christ, can it.”

“Just saying,” Bronn goes on, “your father’s not going to fuck it up for you.”

At _that_ , Tyrion almost lets the accounting book fall down on the ground. “What - _how_ would you even know that?”

“Ah, now I got you interested, didn’t I? Ask your brother.”

“ _What_ -”

“I’m not _such_ a masochist nor would I disclose information he never told me I could share. Ask him. By the way, do you need the pink banners or not?”

“Sadly I do,” Tyrion sighs, suddenly thankful for the change in topic. “Did I ever say I hate Valentine’s Day?”

“But if you sell half of the romance section in one week!”

“… _That_ ’s the damned point,” Tyrion mutters, and then goes back to the accounting book, decides to not re-order _Lady Chatterley_ because no one’s going to want the pricey edition anyway.

Too bad, really.

——

On February tenth, he _has_ indeed sold a good part of the romance section, and he only could dissuade four people from buying anything _Slater Brothers_ and pick something less horribly written and conceived. Honestly, his heart weeps for anyone who’ll actually read that, but he _did_ try, to his credit.

Ten minutes from closing time, he’s making himself his tea while he feels like he could go to sleep for a week given how many horrible trashy vampire-human love stories he had to grift-wrap, and then his brother walks into his humble establishment.

“Please tell me you aren’t getting her romance books,” Tyrion immediately says.

Jaime _stares_ at him. “Who the hell do you take me for? She doesn’t even like romance and I wouldn’t want to get dumped on Valentine’s Day. And I _know_ you still have that extra fancy edition of _The Once and Future King_ , I can get it myself without you needing to stand up.”

“… I do. Go look under the _W_ in the horror and fantasy section. By the way, what is this thing that Bronn tells me about our father possibly not meddling with our lives anymore?”

“Ah, _that_ ,” Jaime says as he kneels down and looks for his book. “Well, that was what made me book that vacation, actually.”

“That hasn’t actually answered the question, you know.”

“Let me get there, won’t you? So, you know how I actually did go to the family Christmas celebration?”

“ _Why_ do you do that to yourself?”

“Masochism, Tyrion, masochism. At least I’m aware of that now. Anyway, he tried to convince me to go work for him, again, and I told him to can it. Cersei obviously joined the party, and I told her to can it.”

“Shit, don’t tell me she tried to guilt trip you into it?”

“Let’s just say Stannis _almost_ congratulated me on how I handled it, next week.”

Right. The therapist. Who apparently works perfectly for his brother because _he doesn’t sugarcoat how fucked up his life is_. Fuck’s sake.

“ _Almost_?”

“He said he would when I stopped trying to find her some kind of justification.”

“ _Were you_?”

“I might have said that I couldn’t expect any less given that she’s still trying to make our father happy rather than thinking about her own issues, which according to him meant justifying her, but never mind. The summary is that I told her to fuck off, left, got spectacularly drunk and showed up at Brienne’s while intoxicated, which I honestly hope I never do again.”

“You could have called, you know.”

“You were having your _annual Wizard of Oz Christmas reading for the group home next door_ , you think I was going to call you when I know you also do it because those kids love it and they look forward to it all month?”

… Fair point, Tyrion has to concede. “Right. So what happened then?”

“I slept on her sofa and she wasn’t there the next morning, came back with a black eye at lunch and told me to not ask where she got it from. Of course I didn’t, but then Addam called me and spilled the sweet truth.”

“As in? Don’t tell me she went to the mansion, did she?”

“Er,” Jaime says, heading for the counter and putting the book there while Tyrion stands up to go wrap it - he doubts Jaime could do that himself, with _one_ functioning hand. “She did.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. She apparently walked in during that ridiculous lunch that starts at eleven AM, proceeded to inform our illustrious father that our _ridiculous business_ is actually going rather splendidly and no one is going to need to ask him for money to keep it afloat.”

Right. Those two wouldn’t be the first former cops to get a PI agency, as ridiculous as it sounds, but apparently they’re doing great and they actually do earn money, so what does he know.

“Anyway, that’s not the best of it, because then she goes up to him, crosses her arms and tells him that it’s out of this world that he thinks that he can decide what both you and I do with our lives when we’re both adults and it’s especially shitty of him that he can’t apparently let the both of us do whatever the hell we like. _Then_ she tells him that being a former cop means she always keeps her phone ready so she might have recorded that time he sent some henchman of his to convince her to dump the agency by paying her off so I’d have to go back to work for him and that she’s more than willing to send it to a few newspapers including the one where some friend of hers work if he doesn’t quit with ruining my life _and_ yours in return.”

“She _didn’t_.”

“She _did_ ,” Jaime says, sounding overtly happy about it, and of course he would. “Ah, and then she told Cersei that if she ever dared making any assumptions about my supposedly uselessness in front of me she was going to sorely regret it without going into specifics, but apparently she was terrifying enough that everyone bought that, and then she left after telling them they had no right to presume they were in charge of other people’s lives just because we’re related.”

“ _Shit_ ,” Tyrion says in admiration. “So wait, she actually _would_ release that audio?”

“I asked her and she said she was entirely serious, and she has some five copies of it over five different drives _and_ on two phones, I think. And I’m sure Father’s entirely aware, which means that if you want to ask out your pretty auburn-haired client no one is going to try and dissuade you _nor_ her from accepting, because the moment it happens that thing’s out and I’m fairly sure she secretly uncovered enough dirt on our illustrious parent to make sure he’d regret trying to meddle. Anyway, I did book that vacation just after that because at that point I figured she’d say yes and no one’s tried to make me or her change our minds yet, so. I’d go for it if I were you.”

“Yeah, you make it sound easy,” Tyrion sighs, finishing to wrap the present and bagging it. “I’m afraid it’d be easier for you.”

Jaime scoffs. “Come on, it’s not that you _didn’t_ find girlfriends back in the day before Father chased them off.”

“It was _one_ that wasn’t after the money, and she had all the rights to bolt, honestly.”

“Well, he can’t make anyone bolt now. Just go for it.”

“Maybe not.”

“You know, it took me a year to realize I was attracted to -”

“I _know_ that and it’s not helping any. Just get that book.”

“Wait, how much do I owe you?”

Tyrion levels him a stare that makes Jaime almost flinch. “ _You_ don’t owe me anything. With all the crap I sold today I definitely can stand giving that to you for free.”

Jaime looks like he’s about to insist but then decides not to and takes the bag. _Good_.

“Fine, but really, give it a try.”

“I don’t really think she’s into _me_ , but I swear that if I don’t it won’t be because I think Father might fuck it up. Is that any better?”

“Well, could be worse. Just lighten up and think about it. By the way, Addam says he has a video, you might want to ask him.”

With that, he’s out of the shop with the bag held in his left arm and looking like he’s having the best month of his life.

Which he probably is.

Tyrion looks at the horrid pink banners hung to the wall and feels thankful that it’s just another four days before he can tear them down.

——

On Valentine’s Day, by four PM he feels like he’s selling a piece of his soul with every _Fifty Shades_ he can’t dissuade people from buying, never mind the fact that he’s actually earning money from it and only wishes he could just _stop_ selling that shit.

That is, until he’s taking a breath because suddenly at four thirty no one is coming in, and then _one_ person gets inside the shop and it’s -

A guy who looks remarkably like Sansa Stark.

“Hello,” he says, “uh, Tyrion Lannister’s shop, right?”

“How do you know my name?” Tyrion not so smartly replies.

Auburn-hair-and-blue-eyes smiles sheepishly and hands him the _Lady Chatterley_ receipt. “It’s written on top.”

_Right_. Of course it is.

“Shit, sorry, it’s been a long day. Uh, I gather you’re… the brother with the boyfriend and you need that book changed because he hates it?”

The brother - how the hell was the name, maybe Robert? - laughs and hands him back his bag. “You’ve got it half right. I need the book changed, but it’s because Sansa told me what it was this morning and Theon owns it already. So she told me it was a pricey edition but I checked and it was the exact same he has. Actually, he has three, I think. So, while your advice was indeed very sound, I still need to change it.”

“Well, good to know at least _that_ was fine. Anyway, sure thing. I suppose _you_ won’t need advice when it comes to your own guy?”

“Nah, thank you, I’ll find him something and we’ll pretend she bought it. Won’t be too far from the truth anyway. That said, it was an excellent guess.”

“I like this job,” Tyrion replies, shrugging. “I’d be shit at it if I couldn’t even give decent advice, right?”

“Fair’s fair,” maybe-Robert agrees, and starts looking around. Tyrion is _extremely_ happy to see him just glancing at the romance section before moving on to _something else_. Which would be, technically, his two tiny LGBT literature shelves, which he tries to keep stocked with quality reading, and he’s entirely _not_ surprised when maybe-Robert comes back to the counter with a brand new copy of _Maurice_.

“He should like this,” he says.

“Excellent choice, but you have seven quid left. It costs less than the book you’re changing.”

“Ah, damn. You happen to have, dunno, a used section? I doubt I can find anything new for that much.”

“The box near the sofa.”

“… And there’s an entire _sign_ pointing to it,” maybe-Robert says. “Sorry, it’s been a long week. Thanks.”

“Listen, once I’ve had this little old lady wanting to buy a Bible and I was doing discounts and the total was 6,66 pounds, and she _didn’t_ buy it because she thought it wasn’t _holy_. Don’t even.”

“… Right, _fine_ , maybe I’m not the actual worst. Well, I’ll just -”

“Have a look while I wrap this, it’s fine.”

Tyrion proceeds on doing just that and as soon as he’s done he sees Sansa’s brother stand up with something in his hand. Tyrion is admittedly delighted as he’s handed over a thrice-used _Nightwatch_ paperback and the original version of King’s first _Dark Tower_ book.

“Nice,” he says, “Discworld fan, other than constant reader?”

“Yeah,” the brother says. “I just never quite got around to buy all of them because I have some, my parents have some and so on, but I read that one at a library back in the day. I _did_ try to get the rest of the family into it but apparently it’s _too lighthearted_ and they’re all drama queens or something. Except for Sansa but it’s technically not her genre, so. Never mind King.”

“Fair,” Tyrion agrees. “Too bad though, I did love this stuff when I was fourteen. But why _never mind King_?”

“Same here,” the brother agrees. “I wanted to be in the Watch. And as far as King goes, well, according to everyone related to me that I’ve talked to he’s some kind of commercial sell-out who is somehow overrated never mind that he doesn’t do anything that Lovecraft hadn’t. And I think it’s ridiculous because he’s damned good and people can dream of doing character work like he does, but try tell them to people who already made up their mind without even having read his stuff.”

“I wanted to breed dragons,” Tyrion sighs, “so maybe your plans were more achievable, when it comes to the Watch. And don’t worry, I feel you. I mean, as I think it’s obvious I’m into… what people would call snob stuff but I agree about King and almost everyone I talked to on the internet when it comes to that topic always says they don’t understand how I like that trash.”

“I feel called out,” maybe-Robert laughs. “What do they know. I think I had a horrible case of identification going on with the protagonist from _The Stand_ , back in the day.”

“The guy who got locked in the lab in the beginning? Well, still better than Carrie White.”

“Really?”

Tyrion shrugs. “She was very relatable.” Sure as hell, when he read that book at thirteen, he might have nodded along at everything poor Carrie thought of her mother. And he certainly couldn’t blame her for about setting that entire town on fire. “Anyway,” he says, dropping the topic before he actually starts sharing too much information with a guy who didn’t even ask for it, “just let me swipe it and we’re good.” He does, notes down the change and bags everything up. “Have a good afternoon and, uh, best wishes to the boyfriend, I guess.”

“Thanks, I’ll make sure he knows. Ah, by the way, _thanks_ for dissuading Sansa from buying _that_ book.”

“What, the _Slater Brothers_ stuff?”

“My aunt is into that stuff. She gave one to _me_ for Christmas because _I like reading and she was sure I’d like that_. I might have sold it the day after I was done.”

“I feel your pain. I hope she liked the replacement better?”

“Oh, she _definitely_ did. I think she’ll show up to tell you in person sometime soon. Anyway, thanks. Really. She _did_ need a pick me up that wasn’t… well, _I’m in live with you_.”

They both wince at the same time. “Yeah, don’t mention it.”

Maybe-Robert, though now that Tyrion thinks about it was most probably Robb, waves at him and runs off the shop, and he climbs back up to put _Lady Chatterley_ into its old place.

If anything, he did guess that Sansa wasn’t having a great day when she came in last, but -

No. He’s _not_ going to go there. He did his job and the fact that he likes her, whether she has crap taste in romance books or not, doesn’t change that she most probably does _not_ like him back and that you don’t hit on your clients. You just _don’t_.

——

His trash can is overflowing with all the pink discount signs that got ruined during the week when Sansa walks inside the shop on the early afternoon of February fifteenth, looking like someone who hasn’t slept for two weeks and who definitely still needs a pick-me-up.

“Hello,” he says cautiously. “Uhm, I hope the finals went well?”

“They did,” she says, “about the only thing that did. Oh, Robb says to inform you that the boyfriend loved the replacement, but at least you did counsel me right the first time.”

“Glad to hear it,” he tells her. “Er, do you want to sit down?”

“Maybe I do,” she sighs. “Sorry, it’s just -”

“It could have been a better Valentine’s Day?”

“ _Indeed_ ,” she agrees immediately, and then says nothing. He puts on some tea without being asked and curses himself for not being half as smooth as _Bronn_ would be in this damned situation - then again, last time he got laid was with a hooker, as sad as it sounds, and the one _girlfriend_ he had who for some reason was into _him_ and not into his father’s money had been the one approaching him first, not the contrary.

He decides that in her place he wouldn’t want people to be nosy and so he just makes the damned tea and lets her catch her breath. He serves another couple customers as she drinks it, and then a third comes in.

The guy’s very nice-looking, Tyrion can’t help noticing - not everyone could pull off an orange coat like _that_ , but the guy is hella attractive and it pairs perfectly with his handsome face, warm olive skin and dark hair and eyes. He’s also looking at the list in his hands as if he’s completely pained.

“Er, can I help you?” Tyrion asks.

Attractive Guy looks down, sighs wearily and hands him the list. “ _That_ ,” he says, “is what my daughters and nephews wanted for Christmas. I was out of the country for work until now for some five months so I couldn’t attend, and I’m feeling pained at the prospect of spending money on _any_ of that. You can help me by either telling me that stuff is less terrible than it looks or giving me viable alternatives, because _that_ is definitely not my thing. And you’re about the only independent shop in the area and I hate shopping at chains, so I just hope you can actually help me.”

Tyrion looks at the list.

Given that it includes _all_ of the _Slater Brothers_ books and _Twilight_ and a couple of the aforementioned One Direction originally-published-on-Wattpad fanfics, he can imagine why they’d be _not_ Attractive Guy’s thing.

“Wow,” he says, “that’s… tough, I guess.” His first instinct is telling him to just get them _something else_ , but he’s still thinking of how happy Sansa sounded to _not be judged for her tastes_ back then and honest, after all you can’t prevent people from liking what they like -

Which is all good, except that he can entirely understand why Attractive Guy does _not_ want to buy the Slater Brothers stuff.

“I _know_ ,” his client says. “I mean, I feel like shit asking you to advise me different things, but -”

“Your heart bleeds at the idea of paying money for _Bronagh_ ’s adventures?”

“… Yeah,” Attractive Guy replies.

Tyrion can entirely feel his pain.

Then he remembers that Sansa’s still there and she _would_ know what people see in this stuff more than _he_ would.

“Wait a moment,” he tells Attractive Guy. Then he heads for the sofa.

“Er, you mind if we ask you for advice?”

Sansa looks up from the tea and sends him a very, _very_ surprised look.

“ _You_ want book advice from _me_?”

“Well,” Tyrion says, “ _his_ daughters and nieces are apparently into your genre, which we aren’t. Can you assure him that he’s not wasting money on anything on this list, _not_ including _I’m in live with you_ and the likes?”

She laughs and takes the list, scanning it. “Well,” she says, “given how _I_ took _I’m in live with you_ , maybe you can be forgiven for not getting them _that_. Also, I suppose that they read the last couple on the internet already?”

Right. The self-insert fanfics. “Yeah,” Attractive Guy says. “I’m pretty sure they did.”

“Then whether you buy it for them or not, what does it change?”

“… Fair,” the customer agrees. Tyrion also has to nod - it _did_ make sense, after all.

“Also,” Sansa goes on, “ _Twilight_ was cute but the last one was terrible. I mean, what was that vampire baby thing? If she wants vampire romance, _The Vampire Diaries_ is a lot better.”

Tyrion wouldn’t know _that_ , but at least as far as he recalls those books didn’t have creepy vampire babies happening.

“Well,” Attractive Guy says, “at least _that_. Fine, we can swap them, if you have both.”

“I have both,” Tyrion sighs. “I have to make a living, you know.”

Sansa covers her mouth with her hand and obviously laughs, but then she obviously goes back to consider _what_ she could change some five Slater Brothers books with.

“Well,” she says, “I really liked _The Princess Bride_ back in the day. It could work. Also, uh, I liked the Percy Jackson books when I was twelve or so? If you want a _series_.”

Tyrion tried a couple and honestly thought they were nothing special, but then again in comparison to _I’m in live with you_ , now they do sound like high literature. “What do you say, Mr…”

“Oberyn,” Attractive Guy says. “I’m thinking that I would feel better investing my money in _that_ rather than whatever it is you’ve just mentioned. Do you have all of that?”

“I do,” Tyrion confirms. “Should I get you the entire thing? I have a nice box set.”

“Sure thing. Go with the box set.”

By the time he’s wrapped and packed everything and Oberyn’s paid, he doesn’t have the Percy Jackson box set anymore, he definitely needs to re-order both _The Princess Bride_ and whatever _Vampire Diaries_ books he ended up selling Oberyn - the old ones didn’t have the same covers as the new reprints with the TV show actors on top and who even remembers which number was what. Oberyn thanks them both for the advice and says he’s definitely going to come back, he hates financing chain bookstores, and Tyrion throws away the list.

“Wow,” Sansa says, “that - that was nice.”

“What, finding people books to read?”

“Yeah,” she says. “I don’t know, until now no one thought the stuff I liked was worth recommending to? I guess.”

Tyrion openly winces. “Come on, I’m sure it can’t have been that bad.”

“Well,” she says, “my best friend - if she ever wants to talk to me again - liked the same things, my family’s all into different things and they barely take _each others’s_ recommendations and with anyone else - they just didn’t.”

“Am I being too nosy if I ask you why wouldn’t your best friend _want to talk to you_?”

Sansa shakes her head. “I was nosy enough when I came here the first time. No, it’s just - I went to LCF, she’s going to GSMD, but we did see each other at the beginning. It’s the first year.” She takes another sip of her tea. “Uh, I might have gotten new friends though. Or better. I thought.”

“Who, the ones who like _Bronagh_?”

She laughs a bit, nodding. “Er, yes. I mean, I invited Jeyne along a few times - the _first_ best friend, I mean - but she never clicked with any of them and in the end we didn’t hang out much anymore because I was always doing things with the others. According to them she was… er, lame? God, it sounds so high school.”

“Well, if you’re in the first year of university I guess you’re barely out of it? Some people don’t, uh, move past that mentality when they should.”

“Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I - we weren’t talking that much. And every time I tried there was always something more urgent to do, or finals, or we’d go out every other night, and - anyway, when I needed the pick me up? I had just found out she was having a hard time and I had no idea and I had to find out from - Theon. The brother’s boyfriend, I mean. They go to the same school so _he_ knew and I didn’t, and I felt like shit, and I called her to ask how she was doing and she sounded so happy that I did when I ignored her for months to hang out with people who only talk about fashion and Instagram and - never mind. I tried to, you know, balance the two things. Also because she _really_ wasn’t fine.” She drinks some more tea. “And then - this is _ridiculous_ , but - right. The person who likes _I’m in live with you_. Margaery. Uhm, she kind of spent all this time making me assume her brother was into me.”

“… Wait, _what_?”

“The last six months. She kept on telling me that he talked about me all the time and so on. And - right, you should probably know I’m there for, like, creating things. She’s into the marketing courses. And - god, she was actually… doing an assignment?”

“ _What_?”

“Basically, she wanted to try out if some of the marketing psychology techniques that she studied actually _worked_ or something, and I have no idea of how _making me assume her brother was into me_ for six months actually would accomplish that, but it did enough that, well, Valentine’s Day was coming up, so I thought, I might as well try, right? Also because - we didn’t really _talk_ much but he’s a very cute guy and he looks very nice, so - why not, right?”

“Let me guess, he wasn’t into you?”

She sighs. “He’s gay and he’s been in a steady relationship since high school and he was… utterly mortified? I swear, it was so humiliating I wanted to die inside. And - guess I’ve been miserable since yesterday, and I was dragging myself home after uni but then I walked in front of here and I figured, why not stopping by. This probably sounds stupid but it’s a nice place and I’ve never left feeling _down_ , so.”

“It’s not,” he says, figuring that if she’s spilling he might as well, too. He has no idea _what_ it is that he’s doing, but - never mind that. “I mean, uh, that’s nice of you to say. Especially because that’s why I got it.”

“What do you mean?”

He shrugs, not having a clue of how he should put it, but - he might as well try. “Er, let’s just say, my father was terrible. Under every sense. And he _really_ had issues with, how shall we say, the fact that I share his genes but I didn’t grow up a fashion model. My sister just went along with his feelings and my mother died in a car accident when I was what, six months old? Anyway, my father also thought homeschooling was a very great idea because if you came from _his_ money why mingle with normal people?”

“Wow,” Sansa says, “that’s… horrible? I mean, _why_?”

“Because he’s a complete bastard, but never mind that. Anyway, my brother, who was and is the only person in there who _wasn’t_ a complete bastard, after he realized I had gone through half of my mother’s books when I was seven because I honestly had nothing better to do and I was ahead of the homeschooling material, used to tell our father that he was bringing me out for a walk or something and then we’d end up spending the afternoon at this bookshop that this Scottish guy owned some ten minutes from where we lived. Our father never noticed how long we were out as long as we were back in time for dinner, the guy certainly didn’t mind because we always left with four or five books, good thing at least we had the money, and - every time I left I always felt better than when I walked in, you know. And like, our father’s business is financing trashy gossip magazines, an equally trashy TV channel whose newscast is all what is called _fake news_ these days and so on, and he wanted both me and the brother to join in and we didn’t. I just, wanted to make people happy with what made _me_ happy, not sell them fake news.”

He doesn’t know how to describe the way she’s looking at him as he finishes telling the entire thing - she looks… impressed? Maybe? _Something_ of the kind?

“Well, you’re doing great with it,” she tells him, and why does she sound like she _means_ it?

“Thanks,” he said. “Anyway, if you’ve never left feeling down then I spent my mom’s trust fund well and she’d probably appreciate it. I hope. That said, your former friend sounds like a complete arse and I mean, shit, this is going to sound really horrible whichever way I put it, I think.”

“Just go for it,” Sansa says. “I’m sure it’s not.”

“It’s just, from what you like to read it’s obvious you enjoy your romance. Making you think someone was into you just to have them let you down _yesterday_ of all days is just… really fucking mean?”

She laughs. “Yeah, okay, it was. It’s just, I wish I never fell for it and I feel really damn stupid now.”

Tyrion kind of wants to say, _I lived with someone who did that to other people for years, I entirely feel your pain_ , but he already feels like he might have overshared when it came to _his_ issues, oversharing when it comes to _Jaime_ might not be a good idea.

“All of us had shitty friends,” he lies, because he _didn’t_. He has _three_ one of which is related to him, and he met Bronn because he was the carpenter he hired to fix up the bookshop when he bought it, and Pod’s the son of Bronn’s neighbor that helps him out with the shop. “And you really don’t look _stupid_ to me.”

“Thanks,” she says, “at least _someone_ thinks that.”

“Why?”

She shrugs. “Apparently wanting to, er, create clothes and not _sell them_ means you’re automatically an idiot. _And_ someone who’ll fall for _basic psychology_ , I suppose.”

“So someone’s an idiot for trusting people they think they’re friendly? Bullshit,” he replies. “Also, if it’s worth any, I graduated twice in six years and I never wanted to _sell_ clothes.”

“Wow,” Sansa says, sounding impressed, “but - in six years? _How_?”

He doesn’t quite look at her as he answers. “I didn’t attend except for the finals and so on. Because _my father didn’t want me to_. And since I kind of graduated earlier because of the homeschooling part, I enrolled at sixteen. So. By the time I was twenty-two _and_ I got hold of the trust fund, I already was done. But really, it’s - bragging about what you did is just the first sign you’re really not _that_ smart, if you ask for my very humble opinion. If you want to tell your former friend that, be my guest.”

“I just might,” she replies. “And you know, it’s a pity. I mean, your father sounds horrible.”

“Oh, he _is_. That’s why we haven’t talked since I turned twenty-one. Best four years of my life, honestly.”

“I can imagine,” Sansa agrees. Then she finishes her tea, and - “You know what, maybe I should branch out a bit.”

“Sorry?”

“I went here to cheer myself up, I want something that _will_ do it. But I mean, it doesn’t have to be my usual thing. You can pick for me.”

“ _What_? I mean, okay, but -”

“We don’t share tastes and so on. Well, I said I wanted to branch out. Just something not too sad,” she says, and now _that_ is a problem, because he tends to like sad stuff in general and he can’t think of anything that she might actually like or might cheer her up, except for maybe -

_Maybe_ -

He nods at her, then goes behind the counter where he keeps his _own_ personal books that aren’t for sale, hopes that he’s not doing something colossally idiotic and goes back to the sofa handing her an old but well-kept copy of Vonnegut’s _God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater_.

“Let’s just say that I’d feel bad selling you something you might not like. You can have it on loan and tell me if you liked it.”

“Oh, I couldn’t -”

“I insist,” he says. “Really. I know it’s a weird pick-me-up, but it always works for me.”

Sansa looks at the cover and reads the summary - she doesn’t look _too_ convinced, but then she smiles that lovely, genuine grin of hers again. “Well, I did say I wanted to broaden my horizons. All right, I’ll try it. But are you sure -”

“I _am_. Really, just go for it. And let me know if it works.”

“I will,” she tells him, and leaves the shop with the grin still on her face.

Shit, he _really_ doesn’t know how to handle this situation, does he?

——

“You lent her one of your Vonnegut books? _That_ Vonnegut book?”

He _knew_ he should have never told Jaime about _that_ specific thing.

“I did, so what?”

They might be on the phone but he can picture Jaime’s face as he shakes his head. He just can. Entirely too much.

“You _never_ lend your books to anyone.”

“So what if I changed my mind?”

“Then you _like_ her and you should just fess up.”

“Come on, I’m not -”

“Tyrion, you gave her exactly the _one_ thing people should read to understand a good part of your shining personality.”

“… Excuse me?”

“Hey, I _did_ read that. I read _all_ the Vonnegut stuff around the house because at least they were _short_ and they didn’t have appendixes, don’t sell me short. And do you think I couldn’t guess why your favorite is about the son of a billionaire who grows a social conscience, gives out all of his money to other people and to all his illegitimate children because he wants it to spread _love_ in the world and thinks science fiction authors are the only people who actually can guess where humanity’s going? Never mind that you both appreciate a good glass of Italian red? Come _on_ , you basically lent her the key to understand how you work and don’t assume that since I prefer audiobooks to printed things I can’t put two and two together.”

“Hey, I _never_ -”

“I _know_ , I was fucking with you. That said seriously, she’s asking you to _lend her books_ , it’s - I don’t even know if it’s flirting but it’s not _being polite_.”

“What -”

“Come on, I’m hardly the most adjusted person around but it’s obvious she wants to be friends at least. Just - if you have the chance give it a try. Really. I’m saying it with your best interests in mind.”

“ _Fine_ ,” he agrees, “I might. If it’s the case. But it’s not.”

It’s really not, he thinks, but it’s not like it matters in the great scheme of things.

——

Five days later, it’s hailing so hard that he’s _absolutely_ sure he’s not going home tonight. It’s already dark as hell at five in the afternoon, it snowed before it hailed and now he’ll be glad if his poor window glass doesn’t get cracked by how much ice is falling on it. At least it’s warm inside, and patience if he hasn’t sold a copy of anything today - _who_ would even leave the house in this weather he doesn’t know.

He’s checking again what he should order of the new releases when the door opens, and Sansa walks in.

“Hi,” he says. “You _really_ are brave to actually get out in this weather.”

“I had to go to uni after all. By the way, I’m done. With your book, I mean.”

She reaches down inside a bag she’s wearing on her shoulder after she puts down her backpack, and hands him back the book inside a plastic bag, in pristine conditions.

“If only every time I’ve lent one it came back so well-kept. So, uh, did you like it?”

“Well,” she says, and he braces for the inevitable _no_ , “I don’t know if I understood all of it because for being _that_ short it had… a lot of information in it. I think. But - I think I got why you think it’s a pick me up. The ending was - very uplifting, actually? Even if you don’t know all the background, it - it does work.”

He takes back the book. “Oh. Glad you liked it, then. And I mean, it _does_ have a lot of things to unpack in it, and if you don’t really care about how the US work it’s probably -”

“It didn’t matter. Though… the interesting thing was the notes.”

“The _notes_?”

“You underlined the bits you liked, I suppose.”

… He might have _absolutely forgotten that_ , he thinks.

“I did,” he admits. “And how were they interesting?”

“The paper was almost torn apart at the bit where he gave people the advice to be kind to everyone.”

“ _Was it_ ,” Tyrion whispers, as he goes to check.

Well, shit. She’s right. The paper around _hello, babies. Welcome to Earth. It’s hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It’s round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you’ve got about a hundred years here. There’s only one rule that I know of, babies—: “‘God damn it, you’ve got to be kind_ was underlined so hard he almost tore the page off.

“In my defense, I was fourteen and I thought it was… relatable.”

“You know, if I don’t have to assume I’m an idiot because I don’t understand when people are playing me and I like chick-lit, you shouldn’t feel ashamed that someone knows that you feel that strongly about people being kind to everyone.”

He smiles sort of nervously. “Er, where I grew up it was considered a character fault.”

“Too bad, because it wasn’t, where _I_ grew up.”

He wishes she wasn’t standing while he wasn’t on the computer chair, because at least they’d be at the same height.

“You know,” she goes on when he doesn’t offer a reply, “I think I know _why_ Bridget Jones was the only nice romance recommendation you had.”

“Really. Enlighten me.”

“For the same reason I think I liked it better than the original, too. As in, maybe I want someone to like me _just as I am_ and you want someone to like you _just as you are_ , or am I projecting?”

… Right. She has him pegged down to a T and he can’t even deny it.

“What if you’re not? Projecting, I mean.”

“Then it’s good to know. Mind if I take a look around?”

“Sure,” he says, suddenly thrown back by the non-sequitur, but - never mind. Of course she probably just wants to be friends or something. Which would be entirely fine by him, _really_.

Still, he goes and makes himself some more tea while she looks around the place because otherwise his nerves are going to burst. He’s pouring the hot water when he hears her coming up behind him.

“I have something to buy,” she says, and he immediately leaves the tea to brew as he climbs back on the chair.

“Sure,” he says. “For you or -”

“It’s a gift, I think,” she says. “But I’ll need it back before you wrap it up.”

“What, leaving messages inside it?”

“Yes, but your packages are so neat, I’m better off not doing it myself.”

“Very well.” He’s kind of surprised when he realizes it’s King’s _Carrie_. “That for your brother?” He asks, as he rings it up and then hands it back to her.

“Indeed,” she says. “His birthday’s next week. I know, I know, everyone in the same season. Did he tell you when he came to change Theon’s book?”

“Yeah. He has better taste than anyone gives him credit for, I think.”

“Maybe,” Sansa agrees. She writes something inside the book, on the first page, then closes it carefully and hands it back. Tyrion wraps it up extra carefully and bags it for her.

And then she grins and hands it back to him.

“What? Is there a problem?” He asks.

“Not at all. I just lied.”

“You - what?”

“Robb’s birthday is in August and he already owns that book. I think, anyway. It wasn’t for him.”

“So you need to change the -”

“No, it’s for _you_ ,” she finally says, looking like she’s trying very hard to not break up laughing, but not in a _mean_ way.

“For - for _me_?”

“I could have bought it someplace else, but why would I when this is my favorite bookshop? Open it.”

Since he has literally _nothing_ to answer to _that_ , he takes the book and carefully opens up his own package.

Then he opens the book itself and looks at the first page, where she has written in a lovely, round, _entirely understandable handwriting_ so that he can’t think that he read that _wrong_ -

 

_I like you just as you are._

 

Just that. Only that. But -

“This will probably make me look like a complete bloody idiot,” he says, “but do you mean it the way I think you mean it?”

She moves forward, her elbows ending up on the counter. “Sure thing,” she says. “I mean it _exactly like that_ and if _I_ am not a complete bloody idiot, I deduced from our previous conversation that you feel the same way, or was I wrong?”

He opens his mouth. Then closes it. Then -

“No,” he says, “you weren’t wrong. But - I mean, I’m not -”

“Tyrion?” She interrupts, and is she _smiling_ , what the -

“Yes?”

“I thought _just as you are_ included the entire package. Or doesn’t it?”

“In theory it does,” he admits, still not quite sure of _what the hell he should do_.

He could have imagined everything except _Sansa_ putting a move on him.

“Good,” she says. “Now, I suppose that _I_ am the, how do you say, genre-savvy person in between the two of us, right?”

“I have a feeling you are, yes.”

“Splendid. Because usually _this_ is the point where the protagonists kiss and your friend Bronn assures me that you’re good at it.”

“What - _wait_ , when did Bronn tell you _that_?”

“When I ran into him a week ago. Turns out we go to the same supermarket.”

_Fuck my life_ , Tyrion thinks, _or maybe not so much_. “I have a feeling he’s there to play the best friend who knows better, right?”

“I’m sure he is.” She sounds _really_ delighted that apparently her life is turning out to be a good romcom after all. He just doesn’t think he’s leading man material, but _still_.

“So, do I get that kiss or are you going to be the only one not playing by the rules here?”

And - fine. _Fine_. He _has_ to laugh at that, because what else could he do, and -

“Far from me to _not_ play along with the sacred romcom rules,” he says. “If you’re _really_ sure -”

“I am,” she cuts him short.

Well.

All right then.

He makes sure that this won’t end in a horribly, _horribly_ embarrassing way, but she’s leaning on the counter and her head is well over it, so unless he manages to fall off the damned chair it shouldn’t be too much of a problem. He puts a hand on the counter and hoists himself forward, reaching with his free one to touch the side of her face and _fine_ , it feels steady, good, and when he kisses her she’s grinning against his mouth and it becomes wider as she parts her lips under his own and he decides that fuck it to hell and back, he’s not really going to hold back at this point.

He finds her tongue with his own and she moans into his mouth as they both grip on the counter and okay, _fine_ , he’s sure that people in romcoms kiss a bit more chastely, but who even cares, not when she’s still grinning as she leans back.

“Well, Bronn wasn’t lying. You’re _very_ good at it.”

“How about I show you again and you never mention him again in this circumstance?”

“How about you get on with that?”

He grins back and does just that and all right, fine, he’s re-evaluating this whole romcom clichés deal after all. And he might just tell her -

When they’re done making out, of course. Until then, he can absolutely wait.

 

 

End.


End file.
